


You're the Conversation (I'm the Game)

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Kinktober 2019 [23]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Arranged Marriage, BDSM AU, Gen, Kinktober Day 23: Collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Iedolas marries Regis.





	You're the Conversation (I'm the Game)

“You must be  _ joking.”  _ Iedolas steps back, away from his father’s fine redwood desk, face twisted in disgust. “I won’t do it, do you hear me? I won’t marry that-- that--”

“You do not have a choice,” Iedolas’ father, Septimus, states gravely. His violet eyes are piercing in the room. “I am tired of this endless war, and so is Mors. We have come to a choice, and this is it. You and his son, Regis, will enter into a betrothal contract. Two years from now, when you are both of age, you will marry. This will secure the treaty for both of our nations, so that this senseless quarreling over land and resources will finally be  _ done.”  _

Iedolas trembles. “Father--”

“No excuses, Iedolas. You are a grown man now, and this is a matter of utmost importance. You may not like him, but for us all you must  _ try.  _ Mors has vowed he will impart this same lesson onto Regis. We are both in good faith that you will treat each other well, if not kindly. You may never love him, but you should at least regard him as a valuable ally. Am I clear?”

Iedolas forces down the rage that wants to come. Rage or tears won’t bend his father - Septimus Aldercapt is as cold as the mountains they exist on, as rigid and unbending as Shiva herself. Once he’s made up his mind, there will be no changing it.

“Yes, father.”

X-x-x-x-x-x

Regis Lucis Caelum is polite. Decent-looking, for a Lucian, even if Iedolas thinks the dark colors he wears makes him look drained. Mors nods to him, and bows his head to his father as they arrive, and Septimus does the same before they clasp hands and excuse themselves towards the study to look over the treaty one last time.

Leaving Iedolas alone with his future… Dom. He tries to act like the thought doesn’t make him queasy. 

Regis must sense his weakness. “Are you adjusting well to the temperatures?” he asks, no hesitancy in his voice. Probably prying for answers, trying to find a place to strike. 

“Fine,” Iedolas snaps, and then remembers his father’s words - warning - and tempers the edges. “It’s… different. Not bad.”

Regis nods, apparently not taking the bait of his temper. A sign of weakness, by Gralean standards. A mouthy sub must be put in their place immediately, not allowed to disrespect their Dom. 

But then, most Doms don’t wind up taking subs for political matches meant to ensure the peace of countries. Husbands are supposed to get along, so perhaps he’s leaning on that for support. Iedolas certainly doesn’t know, he’s never done this before. Hells, outside of his training, he’s never  _ had  _ a Dom. 

He knows Lucian customs are different from Niflheim ones. Niflheim hands power over everything to the Dom, and gives the Dom free rein on the sub, to punish and pleasure as they see fit. Lucians, as far as Iedolas has read, tend to be more sympathetic to their subs, letting them have lives of their own, not acting as mere bed-slaves to their partners. In that at least there is relief - forced intercourse isn’t something Iedolas was looking forward to. But then, Regis  _ is  _ royalty. 

There will be no telling, not until the wedding night. And by then, they may be so sick of each other they’ll take different rooms.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Regis offers, extending a hand out, and Iedolas eyes it, wary as one would a coeurl crossing their path. “The gardens are in bloom right now. It’s rather pretty. I could show you around the Citadel a bit, if you’d like?”

Proper conduct demands an uncollared sub not leave without a chaperone, but given their fathers have already walked out, that’s a rule already buried. Besides, if Regis tries anything Iedolas can always kill him and claim self-defense. He’s sure the man will get bored before long though - Iedolas isn’t exactly aiming to be pleasant company. 

“As you like,” he replies, and Regis smiles like he’s actually  _ happy,  _ even as his hand drops, and Iedolas skitters around, giving him a wide berth as they walk out to a section that smells heavily of floral nightmares and greenery. When their fathers come to collect them nearly four hours later, Iedolas would almost say he’s relaxed.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


Two years pass by in what seem like mere months. Iedolas is bounced from one end of the world to the other in seasons - autumns and winters spent back home, in Gralea with his father, learning and speaking of things that will be, when he and Regis are wedded, and spring and summer belongs to Insomnia… with Regis. 

Regis, who is patient. Who never seems ruffled at Iedolas’ temper, or his snubs, or his secret fears that he passes off as anger or affront over. Who lets him have his distance, and decide on his own time when to drawn close. Who never attempts to touch or grab him without permission, and speaks softly, calmly when Iedolas gets upset.

Who does not act like any Dom Iedolas has ever known. And that frightens him. 

He’s heard the stories. How some Doms will worm their way close by acting one way, but as soon as the contract is signed and the collar is around the sub’s neck, it’s an entirely different game. And the sub can’t escape, can’t run, can’t do anything because all rights have been given to the Dom. 

He wonders if that’s what he’s dealing with, and resolves to be even more on guard. If he’s frigid enough, Regis won’t want anything to do with him. He’ll go looking for easier catches, more willing prey. He’ll get tired, bored, and wander off. And Iedolas will say nothing, because at least it isn’t him. 

Yet that isn’t what happens. Regis continues to be who he is, and introduces Iedolas to his friends - Clarus, his future Shield, Weskham, his advisor, and Cor, a prodigy among the Crownsguard recruits. They all treat him as if he’s always been there, and their presence makes the wheels in Iedolas’ mind turn even more, because if Regis were truly playing false, would he really drag his friends into it? Would anyone really go so far for a mere lay?

Two years, and still no solid answers. And so when Iedolas takes to the altar alongside Regis, in a lone room where it is only the two of them and the silence, he is as wary as he was the day they first met. 

And Regis knows it, holding the slim black collar in his hands. The end of Iedolas’ freedom. 

“Iedolas, what’s wrong?”

Iedolas is trembling, hands fisted tight at his sides. He’s trying not to be afraid, because fear is a coward’s method for dealing with reality, but he can’t stop himself trembling. Can’t make the dark images of his mind stop. 

So he stops holding back.

“Cut the bullshit, Regis.”

Regis looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t have to pretend to be kind. To be understanding. To be… decent. We both know as soon as that collar goes on, I’ll be nothing more than your bed warmer. You can drop the act, and just--” He can’t go further, throat tightening up. Gods, why couldn’t he have died in the womb? Then it would be someone else here, and not  _ him.  _ “Just stop, alright.”

Regis is staring at him in something like horror, something like anger. “Who told you that? Who told-- who  _ said  _ that I’m faking it? Any of this?”

“Nobody has to tell me. I’m not stupid. I know what Doms do to subs. I know--”

“No, no you  _ don’t  _ know, if you’re saying this to me  _ now. _ ” Regis lowers the collar, looks him dead in the eyes. “How long have you been holding on to this? How long have you been thinking that I’m some… terrible bastard that’s going to, to, what, throw you down and rape you as soon as I put the collar on?”

“Two years. Since the day we met.” He can’t bring himself to lie. Regis’ face twists, horrified. 

“Iedolas,” he breathes. “Who put these thoughts into your head?”

“Nobody. Myself.” He probably should have lied about that, but too late now, he guesses. Regis is shaking his head slowly. 

“Iedolas, I’m not going to take anything from you. Nothing you aren’t willing to give, do you hear me? Not your freedom, not your space, not anything. You don’t owe me anything, with or without the collar on.”

Iedolas snorts. “More bullshit. Just forget I said anything, put the damned thing on me and let’s get this over with. The sooner we get married, the sooner Father will stop harping on me.” He turns his head away, throat tight, and closes his eyes, waiting for the cold grip of steel around his throat.

It doesn’t come. The silence stretches, and then Regis takes in a deep breath, and there’s a deceptively soft  _ click  _ in the room. 

Then, Regis’s hand reaching out, and dropping something small into his palm. A key. Iedolas’ head snaps back around to stare at his palm, and then up, to where Regis stands, a black collar around his neck. 

“What-- what are you--” 

“Giving you a reason to trust me,” Regis says, utterly calm like he hasn’t just thrown every bit of tradition out the window and lit it on fire. “You don’t want the collar around your throat, fine. I’ll keep it warm until you’re ready. Until you trust me to be a good Dom to you.”

“ _ You can’t just do that!”  _ Iedolas shrieks, because the image of the man meant to  _ destroy  _ him standing there with  _ Iedolas’ collar  _ around his neck refuses to compute. “That’s-- tradition, and--- You---You’re a  _ Dom,  _ for Six sake!”

No Dom has ever worn a collar. It’s a sign of submission, of giving up, of  _ surrender.  _ A Dom must not do any of those things, and if they are they are  _ weak,  _ and Regis isn’t weak--

“I can,” Regis says again, as calm as ever. “For you, I will. As long as it takes, Iedolas. Months, or years, or even until we’re both on our deathbeds. Or even never.” He smiles. “What good is a Dom untrusted by his sub? We’re going to be together for a long time.”

Iedolas stares down at the key in his hand. He should tell Regis to open the damned collar, and shove it around his own neck,  _ like a proper sub would,  _ but for some reason his brain feels frozen, locked up, and the words won’t come to his tongue. He can’t make himself say  _ Regis, take the damned thing off and give it here, we’re going to get in trouble.  _ Even the  _ thought  _ of having that damned bit of metal around his neck makes his stomach feel bloated and uneasy. 

But Regis can’t wear  _ his  _ collar, while Iedolas remains uncollared. It isn’t done. And they can’t pass either of themselves off as a switch, not now, not on the altar. Something has to give. Iedolas should just man up and say  _ give me the collar.  _ Get it over with. 

“They’re going to yell at us both, you realize.” He hears himself say instead. His hands curl over the key. His brain goes into overdrive, and he catches sight of a length of chain on Regis’ uniform. Long enough, he thinks. It’ll be a tight fit, but it will function as needed. The important thing is not to make this entire thing a fucking sideshow  _ mockery.  _ “They’ll call you weak.”

“They won’t. Father will understand, and so will my people. And if they don’t, it’s because this isn’t meant for them.” He watches as Iedolas strides over and unhooks the chain from his jacket. “May I ask--”

“No, no you may not.” He angrily unhooks it, and slides the key onto the chain, and then before he can talk himself out of it, loops the chain around his neck and hooks it together. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I should have just kept my mouth  _ shut.” _

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Regis says softly, looping their arms together as they descend the altar together. “I’m glad you told me the truth. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Who says I trust you?” The doors open, and outside Iedolas can see cameras flashing. Waiting for them to descend, husbands. His stomach clenches, and practically draws in on itself as he hears the first titters of the crowd, sees Septimus catch sight of him, slowly standing, a frown on his lips. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You’re amazing,” Regis whispers, and Iedolas breathes in so hard his lungs ache. “I don’t care what anyone says, Iedolas. You always have been, and always will be amazing to me. Alright?”

“Oh, go screw yourself,” he hisses back, and then they have no more time for arguments, as questions begin coming at them. It doesn’t descend into the chaos-fueled rancor Iedolas expects, but it comes close. Regis handles the questions with the air of a man who has done this all his life, while Mors watches with an almost bored expression, save the gleam in his eyes that says he has a few questions of his own. 

Septimus is utterly stone-faced, but Iedolas can feel the disappointment coming off him in waves. He doesn’t dare look his father in the eye for fear of drawing the wrath down on him, and when the questions are done Regis guides him away towards their new shared quarters, where Iedolas dashes into the bathroom, and makes good on his promise to be sick.

Regis, the utter bastard, holds his hair and rubs his back and gets him a glass of water for when it’s all over. He guides Iedolas to bed with practiced hands, helps him get changed into a pair of his own clothes, brought by earlier, and tucks him into bed, turning off the lights before undressing and sliding in himself. There’s no sex, no intimacy, nothing but a quiet, “Good night, Iedolas,” as Regis puts their backs together and drifts off. 

Iedolas, on the other hand, stays awake, key clenched tight in his fist, and thinks _what now?_


End file.
